


go slow, pandemos

by apostolosian (mercutioes)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, happy birthday dora!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/apostolosian
Summary: hadrian prays





	go slow, pandemos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aubades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubades/gifts).



> happy birthday dora!! here's yet another samsamwich, just for you!!!!!!!!
> 
> title from "venus" by the one and only god-fucker himself sufjan stevens

Hadrian loses time when he’s in the chapel.

Sometimes he’ll kneel on the stone floor and emerge after to find that an hour’s passed, maybe two, the sun setting low in the sky while he prayed.  He drifts, kneeling there - not sleeping, no, but in a state close to it where perhaps the divine doesn’t feel quite as distant

He’s drifting now, hazy and far off and then there are hands on his shoulders but he doesn’t startle, realizes that this person has been here all along.

“Funny, how your order prays.  It’s not at all what he would have asked for.”  Samot’s voice comes lilting and pretty over Hadrian’s head.  Hadrian doesn’t move -- won’t, not until Samot asks it of him.

“Stand, paladin.  Open your eyes.”

Hadrian does, limbs like syrup and lead, still drifting,  _ drifting _ .  Samot’s hand smooth down his arms and snake around his waist, tight.  Samot presses up against Hadrian’s back and hooks his chin over his shoulder, lips just brushing his ear.

“Tell me what you see, paladin.”

“It’s… it’s a statue of Him.”  The statue is  _ old _ , gray granite made cracked and worn by weather and time, but Samothes’ power still radiates from its stark lines, His warmth apparent in the cut of His smile.

“Look again.”

And as Hadrian watches, light flows around the statue like water, coalescing into planes of warm brown skin and shimmering robes and thick, dark hair.  His outline wavers, not fully solid, but it’s  _ Him _ undeniably.  Hadrian’s breath catches, his knees buckle just slightly, and Samot grins against his ear.

“Oh, paladin,” he sighs, fingertips tracing patterns over Hadrian’s torso and along the waistband of his trousers.  “You’d give me  _ anything _ to let you touch Him, wouldn’t you?”

_ Anything. _

“Would you give me your loyalty?  Your life?  Your body?”  Samot’s fingers slip up under Hadrian’s loose cotton shirt and Hadrian whimpers as Samot strokes nails down the line of his torso.

“ _ Yes _ , I --”  A gasp when Samot bites his earlobe with too-sharp teeth.  “Anything you want.”  Samot hums against his ear, pleased.

The statue-vision of Samothes steps forward once, twice, until He’s right in front of Hadrian, beatific smile still radiant on His lips and eyes creased soft and kind.  Tears spring to Hadrian’s eyes unbidden, mouth falling open and lips slack.

The tears fall when Samothes kisses him, lips somehow firm and insubstantial all at once, light and heat and skin and Hadrian sobs into His mouth.  Samot unbuttons Hadrian’s shirt and smooths it from his shoulders while he’s distracted, pressing biting kisses along the line of Hadrian’s shoulders.  Hadrian shudders between them, trapped and half-hard and desperate.

“What do you want Him to do, paladin,” Samot whispers, fingers questing below the waistband of Hadrian’s pants to pull out his cock and stroke him to hardness.  Hadrian whines, sags back into Samot’s hold.

“I don’t -- don’t  _ know _ , anything,  _ please --” _

“Hush,” soothes Samot, and Hadrian cries out when the vision of Samothes drops to His knees and takes Hadrian’s cock into His throat in one smooth motion.  His mouth is warm, wet and yet Hadrian  _ knows _ it’s an illusion, can see the light under His skin and faintly, so faintly, the granite beneath.

Samot rakes nails up his torso, all the way up to wrap around his throat - not squeezing, just a steady presence that makes Hadrian’s groans go breathy and soft, little  _ ah _ s on the exhale that mean he’s close, so  _ close _ .  Samothes pulls back suddenly and looks up at Hadrian, eyes half-lidded and lips parted in a plush, tempting curve.  Hadrian sobs when Samot wraps a hand around his cock instead, stroking steadily.

“Come on, paladin,” Samot murmurs in his ear.  “Haven’t you always wanted to see Him covered in you?”

That’s all it takes.  Hadrian’s coming, coming,  _ coming _ with a strangled shout _.   _ He streaks Samothes’ perfect face in white, along His perfect cheekbones and the perfect bow of His mouth.  Hadrian sobs again as the aftershocks run through him, Samot’s steady hand guiding him through.

“Hush, paladin,” Samot soothes, hands stroking up the planes of Hadrian’s torso, along his trembling limbs.  He guides Hadrian down to his knees again.  He’s at eye level with Samothes now, and He smiles gently, leaning in to kiss Hadrian slow and soft.  Hadrian can taste himself on Samothes’ tongue.  Samot cards a hand through his hair, runs nails down to the nape of Hadrian’s neck.  He chuckles, amused.

“Now, I don’t believe you were done praying.  You should finish your prayers, paladin.”

And all at once, Hadrian’s back, clothed and dry and at the foot of the granite statue of Him as if nothing had ever happened.


End file.
